


Mickey Milkovich is a Dead Man

by hypernomad



Category: Shameless (US)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-11-07
Updated: 2014-11-07
Packaged: 2018-02-24 12:54:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2582129
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hypernomad/pseuds/hypernomad
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Juvie's not as bad as Mickey thought it would be.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Mickey Milkovich is a Dead Man

**Author's Note:**

> I have Mickey-in-juvie feels, so I decided to write a ficlet about it. Set at the end of S1.

Juvie’s not as bad as Mickey thought it would be.

Sure, the guards are pricks, the other inmates are assholes and to top it off, he’s still got a searing pain in his leg from being shot. He’s half tempted to get a few Oxys off one of the other inmates with the money Ian scored him (half of them are dealing, but he doesn’t want to stay in here for any longer than he needs to). He’s been on crutches before though, and at least these ones are half-decent, so it’s not as bad as it could’ve been. On his first night in the jail ward, he goes over the things Iggy and Terry had told him about how to survive in the joint. He memorises them and goes over and over them at breakfast.

He’s not nervous, not really. When he’s finally transferred to the detention center, he works out in the gym and does his best not to pick fights with the other shitheads at mealtimes. (He isn’t very good at this one.) At night, he curls towards the wall and sleeps with one eye open, occasionally kicking the bed frame with his good leg while yelling at his snoring cellmate to shut the fuck up.

On his first night though, he thinks back to a few days before when he heard he had a visitor. Mandy had said she’d visit, but he knew she was bullshitting, so he was kind of surprised - even more so when he hobbled up to the glass and found Ian fucking Gallagher looking back at him with his dumb fucking puppy eyes.

It had been nice though, talking to him. Mickey hadn’t seen a friendly face in a while and he was kind of missing it now that he’d gotten used to it. Mickey’s been feeling all kinds of soft for Ian Gallagher. He knew he was in trouble, had known it since that freckled face had shown up at his door looking distraught a couple of weeks ago. He tries to keep it from showing on his face, but it’s getting harder and harder to do that.

At least when he’s in bed and it’s pitch black in his cell save for a little bit of light coming in from the corridor outside, no one can see the stupid fucking smile he’s got on his face. He’s never felt like this before – like it’s just him and Ian and Ian giving a shit about him and Mickey trying to quash the queasy feeling he gets when he thinks about Ian Gallagher’s smile, or his hands, or his ginger hair. Mickey’s never had that. He’s been useful, sure, needed – occasionally, as another pair of hands to help dig a grave or give a beat-down to some poor fucker who was late paying up. But wanted? That’s new. He wants to listen to the dark part of his brain that tells him Ian only scored him that money because he felt bad about his ex shooting him in the leg, and he almost manages it.

Mickey grins against the corner of his flat pillow, bunched up beneath his head. The more he thinks about it, the giddier he feels, and the more conflicted he is about trying to stop thinking about it. ‘Cause he doesn’t _want_ to stop thinking about it, but every bone in his body is telling him that he’s deluding himself and that this is only going to end badly for them both.

Yet…

Ian had been in pretty deep with that towelhead, and he’d chosen to risk losing his job by cheating on him with Mickey. Mickey’s no idiot – he knows he’s not exactly a catch. He’s got a nice ass and he can take dick like a champ, but objectively, he knows that Ian could probably find a nicer piece of ass in Boystown any time he likes. Ian’s got a lot more going for him. He could do a lot better than Kash n’ Grab at the very least.

Still… Mickey had taken a particular pleasure in goading that creepy fucker about his boyfriend’s infidelity with none other than Mickey Milkovich: violent baby thug extraordinaire, who until recently had been robbing his store on a near-daily basis. Minus the shooting, it had been nice. He’d felt powerful for a few moments, and not in a beat-down power trip kind of thing or even in a sexual way. No—this wasn’t about strength or sex.

It was about someone seeming to honest-to-god like Mickey, for the first time in his life.

Ian Gallagher liked him, and not just ‘cause of the sex. Ian Gallagher was sound; hadn’t said a word to anyone. Ian Gallagher was willing to risk his much-needed job to fuck him behind his boss’s back. He was willing to risk his job again by threatening said boss into putting money in his commissary account, just to make sure that Mickey could take care of himself inside. Ian Gallagher cared enough about him to spend fuck-knows how much money he doesn’t have to come visit him at County. Just for a few minutes.

Mickey’s not sure how comfortable he is with all of it yet, mostly because he has no idea what Ian Gallagher even sees in him. For a moment, he allows himself to wonder what being with Ian would be like. Realistically, he knows they’d never survive – Terry would kill him, would always be on his periphery, or somebody else would. But for a while, he lets himself think about it. Ian likes him enough to make an effort. Maybe he’s just trying to let Mickey know he’s still interested in being fuck-buddies when he gets out, Mickey doesn’t know, but he thinks that’s a pretty excessive length to go to when it’s easy enough to find lay in their neighbourhood.

Ian Gallagher’s optimism is apparently infectious, and he curses the other boy for fucking with his survival instincts, not for the first time. He runs a hand through his hair and lays back. He tells his brain to shut the fuck up. It doesn’t work, as usual. He doesn’t stop thinking about getting out and picking up where they left off. He hates himself and the system when he buys himself another thirty days for stabbing some fat fuck with a spork, even though it barely scratched him. He works on his body and jacks off silently to thoughts of freckly hands on his skin, teeth grazing the nape of his neck, running his hands through soft, red hair.

His mind goes round and round in circles for the next thirteen months. He tries not to let how much he missed him show when Ian is waiting for him next to Mandy when he gets out, but he kind of fucks up at the baseball field. Ian doesn't say a word. Mickey just likes him more. 


End file.
